for Shermaine Chong
Shall light be ever shed from thine bright eyes?
Hell’s flames are quenched, when laughter gladly flows;
Eternities are winds that raise the morning crows,
Revelling in the freedom of the skies.
May music be a comfort in thy cries
And gladness, like a crimson flower, grows
In your heart’s soil. The jewelled, glinting rose
Newly aroused, of life, and lived of lives.
Each year, when past, will leave its bitter trail.
Can one return to live the shifted times?
Have any ever glimpsed the secrets yet to come?
One life, enough! each has its own travails—
No haste! For month by month a trap of lines
Grows high, and time and age will kill the sun!